I threw open the door, then descended the staircase. Adley soldiers opened the steel doors that led to the dungeon.
“Alright, guv,” they said as they opened the doors. “Full house tonight.” The minute the soundproof doors were open, the sound of fists hitting flesh came barrelling into the East End night. I glanced over my shoulder to see Cheska walking with Betsy, Ronnie and Vera. I flicked my chin at Eric. He nodded back at me, getting my order to keep an eye on her and the women.
Sweat and blood filled the air as we stepped into the warehouse’s lair. This was my real fucking club, not the Sparrow Room full of pretentious pricks. This was the club that made me the real money. “Arthur,” men greeted as I passed by them. The room was crowded with men and women. All from the crime syndicates that didn’t fuck with us. Associates. Acquaintances, and ones I hadn’t had an excuse to kill just yet.
Pit after sunken pit was filled with fighters. Bare-knuckle, of course, no fucking pussies in the rings. The seats around the pits swelled with spectators, Caesars looking down on their gladiators.
I led my family through the gathered spectators, as Adley soldiers ran the pits and bets and kept everyone in check. We walked to the back of the warehouse until the real fucking pits came into view. The headliners. The big-money tickets. The ones where the only way out was to be carried out in a fucking coffin.
My men had made sure things were in order and our seats were ready. They were prime viewing, ensuring everyone could see us. See who ran this fucking castle. Who was the real emperor, ruling over them all.
I tossed my coat off and lit a cig, looking down into the main pit to see two men ripping each other apart. One had a smashed jaw and couldn’t see from one eye, but the wanker wasn’t giving up.
He was close to the coffin.
Betsy and Cheska sat down behind me, a few seats to my right. I looked over at Chelsea Girl. Her eyes were fucking wide as she drank in the room, but she hadn’t run yet. As if feeling me watching her, she looked over at me and straightened her shoulders. She then focused on the pit, just as the heavily beaten fighter’s neck snapped and he dropped to the floor. The ref gave the signal that it was over and held up the arm of the victor. Cheska swallowed, but other than that made no sign that what she was witnessing was too much.
The wannabe dark queen sucking it up to play in the vicious court.
“Arthur, you fucking twat,” a familiar voice said. I turned, taking a drag of my cig, only to see Royal, the president of the Hades Hangmen MC, London chapter. “Long time no see.”
“Royal.” I looked behind him to see his men watching the fights. My eyes narrowed on the bikers as I noticed someone pretty fucking vital to us was missing. Royal shook my hand and pulled back.
“Where fuck is Rudge?” I asked, not seeing the mouthy tosser anywhere.
“Prick’s fucking left us for Texas,” Royal said, pushing back his shoulder-length brown hair. He was dressed—as always—in jeans, shitkicker boots, white t-shirt and his Hangmen cut. The Hangmen were among our closest associates. And Royal was one of the people I knew best outside my family. One of the only people I could tolerate who didn’t represent the Adley name. Our history was long, and the fucker currently owed me a favour for bringing back one of the club’s kidnapped bitches.
“Texas?” I asked. “What the fuck is in Texas?”
“The Hangmen mother chapter,” Royal said, shaking his head. “Arsehole went over there to do a bare-knuckle circuit and never came back. The bloody brown-nose is so far up the mother chapter’s president’s arse he’s practically cleaning his motherfucking teeth.”
“He’s going to leave us a fighter down,” I said.
“No, he ain’t.” Royal nudged his chin toward his vice president, Jag.
Jag came over and shook my hand. A bloke about my age, maybe younger, came out from behind him. Lithe, tattooed head to toe, with dark eyes that promised fucking death. “Rudge’s cousin, Chrome.”
“Chrome?” Charlie asked from beside me, shaking hands with the Hangmen and sizing up the new fighter.
“As in Chromium, one of the hardest fucking metals in the world,” Jag said. “You thought Rudge was the best bare-knuckle fighter you’ve ever seen? Wait until you see this little fucker. Makes me glad his cousin has pissed off to Austin. Now we’ve got an upgrade.”
A ref called the next fight, and Royal tapped me on the arm. “That’s us.” The Hangmen went back to their seats, and Chrome jumped down into the pit. I sat down and watched with vested interest as Chrome killed his opponent in thirty seconds flat, and twenty of those fuckers were just him toying with his prey.
“All I see are pound signs when I look at that fella,” Freddie said. “No idea why the fuck anyone would choose Texas over London, but I’m glad Rudge did. I was one stupid joke away from knocking out his teeth myself.”
The ref signalled the next fight. Eric got up from his seat and stripped down to his trousers. Cheska’s eyes widened and she whispered something to Betsy. Before Betsy could reply, Eric walked up to my cousin.
“Kiss for good luck?” Eric said to Betsy.
Betsy leaned in, and Eric’s eyes widened. She stopped before his lips. “Eat shit and die, Mason.” She slapped his cheek, the sound loud enough for the spectators to hear.
“Cold-hearted bitch,” Eric said, smiling. He pointed at her. “I’m fucking you after I win this.” Betsy rolled her eyes, and Eric climbed down to the pit. His sadistically smiling clown tattoos covered every inch of his skin. He was against the Chechen’s new fighter. Ten minutes later, Eric was fucking supercharged, with blood on his hands and in his mouth, a dead Chechen eating the sand at his feet.
Vinnie jumped up next. He smiled and leaned down to the hallucination of my sister, the nearby Italians watching him like he was fucking insane. He was. And that’s why he’d beat anyone we put in front of him. I never bet against him.
The minute he was in the pit, Vinnie became the animal we knew him to be. The fucker who lived for blood and guts embraced the urge to kill. The only leash he had these days was the ghost of my sister. If she ever left him, there’d be more than me to fucking worry about in London Town.
Vinnie ripped his Manchurian opponent apart, his knives hacking his opponent to smithereens long after he was dead. By the time Vinnie was done, the Manc fighter was just a mangled heap of shredded flesh and bones. Vinnie threw his head back and screamed when the ref finally called the fight.
Vinnie jumped out of the pit, eyes black from adrenaline. “Where now?” he said to me. I tipped my chin at the ref in the next pit. He called Vinnie over, and Vinnie went off to fight again.
I checked on Cheska, who was still as a fucking statue in her seat. My chest pulled. Chelsea Girl wasn’t handling the lair well. She caught my eye. Then, with her gaze still locked on mine, she pulled a wad of cash from her bra and handed it to the dealer stood beside us.
“All of it,” she said, making sure I heard her fancy fucking voice give the command. “On the Irish.” The dealer gave her a betting slip, and Betsy smirked my way. Cheska looked at me again, a fucking challenge in her eyes. I didn’t know where this bird had been hiding all these years, but the princess was shaking off her pink dress and owning those fucking leather trousers she’d squeezed her perfect arse into.